War of Mind
by KathrynElaineDarling
Summary: I didn't want anyone, especially her, to think that I would end up just like my father. He was the problem. I need to get rid of the problem. This is an alternate universe that shows the impact on the wizarding war with the death of someone important.


**QLFC Season 7 Round 10**

**Prompt**: Kill Lucius and show the impact that it has.

**Word Count**: 2182 (According To Microsoft Word)

**Prompts**: #2: [word] reflection  
#6: [color] ruby

#13: [color] chocolate brown

**Position**: Beater 1

**Team**: Pride of Portree

**War of Mind**

Everything in the room seemed to move slowly. Between watching the words of hate being carved on her arm, her harsh screams, and the devastating sobs; I lost it. The wicked laughter from my aunt as she tortured her soul rendered me speechless and completely motionless.

My father was radiating with fear, as was I, but it didn't keep him from whispering the cruelest sayings in my ear while pointing at her mockingly. The mockery was laced with promises that the Dark Lord would find favor with us. I was only partly listening to him. This was something I would never wish on anyone. No matter the amount of loathing for those of lower blood status, none of them should witness or experience this kind of pain and torture.

Stomach in knots and heart strings pulling tighter with every whimper. It kept me on the edge.

My eyes darted from the crystal chandelier hanging above to the writhing girl under Bellatrix's arm. I could do it. I could drop the chandelier on my aunt's head, but is she really the problem? She's a problem in her own right but is she the real reason that this is happening?

My eyes drifted over to my father who had moved over slightly to watch his dirty work. He was the problem. He is the very reason that we are under the impenetrable thumb of Lord Voldemort. He is the reason that Hermione Granger's newly carved brand glistened with ruby red beads of blood. He is the reason that my mother is in a constant state of panic. He is the reason that I am even alive.

The problem is him.

My head was pounding, overpowering any senses that I had. It was interrupting my thought process as I switched between my mother's frightened eyes and my father's cryptic smirk. I have always been afraid of this man, of this monster, but I saw something in him that frightened me even more. I saw a future reflection of myself. We had the same icy stare, the same platinum hair, the same manner and air about us. The difference between us was that I knew right from wrong.

It was only going to be a matter of time before I completely changed into this cowardly shell of a man. He wasn't me. I refuse to accept that fate for myself.

The screaming had stopped but the light sobs continued. When they ceased, I closed my eyes and tried to think. Every time I tried, I could see those chocolate brown eyes that used to be a nuisance. They were warm and content behind my eyelids but when I caught a glimpse of them in the shiny marble floor, they were emotionless. Tears streamed down her cheeks and my aunt was busy waving her hands around in irritation.

The shocked look on my family's face when I pulled my wand from my pocket will remain etched in my brain forever. The emerald light that poured out from the tip towards my father took place as the color left his body. Dead. By my hand.

Bellatrix pointed her wand at me but just as she was about to strike, my mother pushed her arm above and the spell struck the crystal chandelier above Hermione. My mind raced faster than my body but I was able to push both of us out of the way. The chandelier shattered and crystal flew in various directions. Hermione whimpered and clung to my arm. She wanted protection and those haunting chocolate brown orbs begged for me to do that.

My mother, standing over my father's body covered in crystal, was crying. Although, her face was twisted into something of a smile as she cried for him. My aunt, stood with her wand raised. Grabbing Hermione's hand, I apparated out of the mansion but to where I knew not.

We landed on a grassy knoll, the land knocking the air from my lungs. I felt something warm and gentle in my hands and realized that Hermione had not let go. She had clung to my hand much like she had my arm. When the dizziness fell away, she removed her hands quickly as if she had been struck by a snake. It had not sunk in that I had killed my father. The repercussions of this were sure to be disastrous.

"Are you hurt?"

The hoarseness in my voice was subsiding with every deep breath I took. I knew her answer. The blinding mark still bleeding.

"You killed your father."

I wished I felt something or mourned the lost but I felt nothing. I was more worried about the burning sensation from the mark on my left forearm. They were calling for me but I wouldn't return. I knew what would happen if I did. I would end up just as cold and lifeless as my father right now. I turned from her and unbuttoned my shirt to reveal a black undershirt. I needed to cover the words on her arm and stop the bleeding. No one needed to see it. Not even her.

She watched me carefully as I ripped my shirt into shreds. I wrapped her forearm gently after cauterizing the wound that would inevitably be the worst scar she'll have, besides the memory of how she received it. Her fingers danced along my elbow, sending a vicious tickle up my spine, but I felt her tense up instantly. She was watching the dark mark.

"Are you going to kill me just like you killed him?" she whispered, the tears sprang to her eyes and her voice cracked.

"I wouldn't kill you."

"Why not? It'd be so easy with me in front of you."

"Are you asking me to kill you?" I asked, throwing the remains of my shirt behind me as we sat on the grassy knoll.

"No, I just…" she paused.

I don't think I've ever witnessed Hermione Granger speechless. I'm not a fan of her silence. A part of me really enjoyed the nagging and know-it-all behavior but that was buried deep down inside of her. The torture didn't just steal space on her forearm but it stole her fire. It stole her will. It stole everything that was even remotely appealing about her and she couldn't do anything but watch me. As if one wrong move would cause me to hurt her. I wouldn't hurt her. My family and I have already done that enough. No more.

"How could you kill him and not feel upset?" Hermione questioned, cradling her arm with her hand.

"I haven't felt anything about my father in a long time. If anything, he enraged me."

I'm too stunned at my actions to really think about the repercussions. I'll remember my mother's cries far more than I'll remember my father's face. It's her I feel sorry for. Not my father.

"I have to go back to get Harry and Ron."

"I saw them on the staircase before I apparated with you. Dobby was helping them escape. Where would your friends have escaped to?"

She was thinking. A lightbulb seemed to have gone off in her head and she grabbed my hands to apparate away to the safe house that they had put in place at the home of Bill and Fleur Weasley.

-XOX-

_Two Years Later_

Voldemort had been defeated. It was over. It was finally over. I just didn't understand why I didn't feel safe. My mother claimed that my father was killed in battle but she wasn't sure by who. My name was clear but my conscious was not. It prevented me from sleeping and I longed to rest peacefully. That man was going to forever haunt me, even from the grave.

The moon's reflection shimmered against the ocean as the sound of waves crashing upon the shore calmed me. I sipped from the orange blossom tea that Dobby had made for me. He had decided to live with me off and on for a few months while he roamed from place to place. My mother had been able to distract my aunt enough that day that everyone was able to apparate safely with everything intact. Everyone still doesn't trust me and I don't blame them. Well, everyone except Hermione. I think she's coming around. Her visits have become more frequent as have her gifts for me and the house.

Up a set of rickety steps sat my small beach house. It was almost a shack the way it was laid out. Before those steps lay a path that led directly to the beach. The hallway from the house entrance led to four places. The emerald walls of my bedroom could be seen from the small front door and I could see the even smaller kitchen from the balcony. A soft knock echoed through the dimly lit hallway, but based on the size you would think a giant was dying to get inside, and the door opened gently. It closed with just as much grace and with what sounded like a box full of clanging glass containers.

"Are you still unable to sleep?" she asked.

I turned and smiled sadly. She knew my answer immediately and sighed heavily. The box in her hands held vials, food, and her special herbal teas that she had started making.

"I brought you some more Sleeping Draught," she said, holding up a vial of blue liquid.

My eyes drifted to the words that were still carved into her forearm. What she didn't realize was that she was part of the reason I couldn't sleep. Sometimes, at night, I could still hear her screaming in pain and that she didn't have any information. I tensed and she seemed to understand.

"Stop looking at it. It won't do you any good."

I knew that. She placed the box down and started unpacking it. Even though my name was clear, I tried not to leave unless I absolutely had to for supplies. I still had enemies. There were people who knew that my father was killed by someone. I was the main suspect but, because he was a Death Eater, no one seemed to follow up on it. I was sure that I had a bounty on my head amongst his former followers.

I watched as vial after vial was removed from the box and placed on my dresser. There was a variety of Sleeping Draughts, Wolfsbane Potions, and Calming Draughts. The colorful vials were lined and she explained what each row was for and what it would be used for.

"I don't think the Sleeping Draught is strong enough to be dreamless but I guess you will let me know if it's not. Do you need anything?" she asked, looking around for spots or for things out of place.

"No. Thank you."

"Where's Dobby?" Hermione asked, looking around.

"I'm not sure. He made two cups of tea and left. Sometimes he stays and sometimes he doesn't."

I set my empty tea mug on the edge of the dresser and stepped closer to her. She didn't recoil like she usually did when I got close. That's how I knew she was coming around. She smiled at me and nodded. I'm not sure what she was nodding for. I didn't ask her anything.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" she asked.

Those gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes were watching me. She was searching for my soul and trying to read my every move. Sometimes she was good at this game we played but I was getting the feeling that she was growing tired of it. I couldn't have that.

"I'm sure."

She nodded. She looked disappointed when she turned and headed for the door.

"Actually, I lied…" I called after her.

She stopped suddenly in the narrow hallway and waited for me to speak again. I didn't. I came behind her and ran my icy fingers against her forearm. I was positive that the burn was just as fierce against her brand as mine was. We were two people that were more than the tattoos etched into our skin. We were much more than the scars and burdens we carried. Maybe that was why I couldn't sleep. I didn't have a soul that matched mine until now.

"What is it?" she asked, turning to look into my eyes.

"Could you just stay for a while?" I asked, begging.

She sighed heavily and followed me back to the room. I took a vial of draught and lay down on the silken emerald sheets. I've asked this of her before. I've asked for her to stay behind and hum against the salty breeze and crashing waves. She would curl up in the oversized chair in the corner and fall asleep to her own song. This night was no different.

I did eventually drift off into a dreamless sleep to the sound of her soft voice but the draught couldn't cure the fear and loathing that I felt for myself. It just lessened it.

Although, for now, this will do.


End file.
